


Picture

by MaxWrite



Category: British Actor RPF, Harry Potter RPF
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, RPF, Twincest, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-14
Updated: 2007-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:44:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver can’t help but watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture

James would kill him if he knew.

But for the moment, Oliver was safe, the sounds of James’s breathing drowning out his own shaky breaths as he peered through the thin gap between door and doorframe, knowing that at any second, James’s eyes could turn on him, catch him there. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t look away from the sight of his twin seated on the bed, leaning back against the wall, slouching slightly, his long, denim-wrapped legs spread. His eyes were closed as he stroked his length at a moderate pace, his other hand shoved inside his underwear, gently fondling his balls.

His pretty features were slightly hardened by concentration, a faint line appearing intermittently between his brows. He lowered his face, his dark chocolate hair partially obscuring it as he began to stroke faster.

“Mmm,” he sighed almost plaintively, beginning to squirm, curling and uncurling his bare toes. He finally opened his eyes and stared straight ahead. Oliver knew James could see himself in his mirror from where he was sitting. He seemed to be watching his cock as he played with it. His eyes glazed a bit as he watched himself, his stroking slowing to a sensuous pace, his index and middle fingers gliding up and over the head of his cock and back again.

A few more strokes, and he stopped suddenly, sat staring at his reflection, looking himself up and down. He held himself by the base, seemed to be gripping it tight. He squirmed more, slumping down further, rolling his hips. His eyes slid shut again. He seemed to be lost in some fantasy. Oliver wondered who James was with in his mind. Who was touching his little brother?

James looked down at himself again, his pouty, pink mouth hanging open as he panted. He took his other hand out of his pants, touched the fingertip of his index finger to his slit and rubbed at it just a little. He then brought the finger up to his mouth, popped it inside and sucked the pre-come from it. The finger slid slowly from between his lips and the hand fell at his side as he began to masturbate again. Without stopping, he turned his body around and lay down, his head sinking into his pillow. His legs remained wide open, one of them, in fact, hanging over the edge of the bed.

It was now, for the first time, Oliver noticed the small, white, rectangular bit of paper on the bed between James’s legs. There seemed to be something written on it. James reached down and picked it up, held it with the writing facing away from himself, and Oliver guessed there was some kind of erotic image printed on the side James was now gazing at. James immediately began pumping his shaft more quickly, thrusting up into his hand every now and then as he did so. His breathing quickened and he began to whisper things Oliver couldn’t hear. Even when his voice grew a little louder, it was still just edge-of-orgasm gibberish to Oliver. He noticed that James’s eyes never left that picture. He didn’t look away. He barely blinked.

That is until he couldn’t maintain control any longer. The hand holding the picture dropped to the mattress, and he arched his back and his neck, letting his other leg slide off the edge of the bed. He was thrusting more frequently now, and Oliver could just make out a faint “oh, god,” or “fuck,” or “yes,” here and there, until James simply dissolved into grunts and shuddering, raspy groans.

The first spurt of ghostly white semen landed across James’s t-shirt. The next reached his throat. He abandoned the picture, and Oliver watched the fingers of his now free hand stretch and flex in desperate ecstasy and push the t-shirt up, exposing his flat belly and part of his chest.

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck,” James whispered quickly and harshly, covering his belly in pearly liquid, unknowingly mesmerising his brother with every flying strand. Oliver’s hand ventured onto the hardness in his own jeans, gently massaged it. He felt as though he hadn't blinked in ages.

And finally, James’s body began to relax, his toes uncurled, his back un-arched and found the mattress again. His face fell to the side and he panted loudly and deeply, eyes closed, hand slowly milking out what little was left inside him.

For some time, he just laid there, his torso still exposed, his legs still spread, his hand resting on his now limp prick, occasionally venturing up to play lightly in the wetness he’d covered himself in. He tasted himself twice more, and each time, Oliver felt himself twitch inside his jeans.

He was unbuttoning his jeans. Standing right outside James’s bedroom door, practically in plain view if James ever chose to look in his direction, and he couldn’t stop himself from unfastening his button and zipper. His unblinking eyes still glued to James, he released his painfully hard erection. He licked his palm and wrapped his hand round himself, stroked slowly. _I love you,_ he thought desperately, mouthing the words as he thought them.

Finally, James sat up, his shirt falling down over his moist skin. He retrieved tissues from a nearby box and wiped himself dry. Then he slumped over his own lap, hands gripping the edge of the bed. He hung his head. He seemed to be frowning.

He reached back and grabbed the picture, brought it around to look at it. He touched a finger of his free hand to its surface, seemed to be tracing whatever the image was. Then he sandwiched the picture between his palms, brought it up to his mouth and just held it there for a moment, eyes closed.

“I love you,” Oliver repeated, this time semi-aloud. James opened his eyes then, turned his head toward the door, frowned at the sliver of hallway visible from where he sat. But by then, Oliver had slipped away, was tucking himself back into his jeans as he hurried downstairs to the front door. He opened it and closed it again, loudly, turning the lock quickly to ensure the loudest click. He wanted James to hear, to think he’d just arrived.

He began to make his way back up the stairs, and James met him halfway. He was wearing a different shirt now, but still looked slightly dishevelled as he grinned at his brother.

“Hey,” he said. “You just get here?”

“Yeah,” Oliver lied. “Mum and Dad are …?”

“Not home yet.”

“Ah.”

They went their separate ways, passing each other on the staircase. Oliver could feel the residual heat from James’s body as they passed each other, could smell the faint musk of James’s ebbing lust. He turned to watch James descend, watch him disappear round a corner, and listened intently to hear where James would go. He went into the kitchen.

Off like a shot, Oliver dashed up the stairs, slowed as he approached James’s bedroom again, stopped, listened; James was still in the kitchen. Oliver pushed the door open, stepped inside. The discarded white t-shirt lay crumpled on the floor. The picture was still on the bed.

It was printed on regular printer paper, printed from a website, the edges cut off so there was no white space, only the picture. It was a picture of them; James and himself. James’s face wasn’t visible, but Oliver’s was in profile.

They were all pale, bony limbs and bright, ginger hair. And he was watching James, leaning over him, right in his personal space, watching his hands as he signed something.

 _Why do I do that?_ Oliver chastised himself. He frowned, annoyed at his own inability to maintain normal distance from his twin in public.

It wasn’t erotic, wasn’t dirty at all. It was just them.

But James had been looking at this picture while he masturbated.

Oliver’s heart began to pound harder and harder, until he felt as though it might crack his ribs. He turned the piece of paper over, remembering having seen something written on the back. It was James’s handwriting. He read it, barely believing it.

Moments later, the picture fluttered to the floor as Oliver raced from the room, practically flying down the stairs, desperate to get to his twin.

 

  
_The stars are aligned, but they don't align for us  
Excuse me for I am the ocean, and I will starve for you  
Will you know how to stay brave?  
Such fragile moments we share  
You are my everything  
Even with nothing to say_

END

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics are from _… Off by Heart_ by [City and Colour](http://cityandcolour.ca/).


End file.
